Left Unspoken
by Krysnel Nicavis
Summary: It was only supposed to be a one time thing… WARN: Slash, MPreg . NickGreg. Part of the Mistake Series.


**Title:** Left Unspoken  
**Fandom:** CSI  
**Characters:** Nightshift CSI's  
**Prompt:** #15 – Blue  
**Word Count:** 682  
**Rating:** T (Some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.)  
**Summary:** It was only supposed to be a one time thing…  
**Author's Notes:** Part of the Mistake Series; Story contains MPreg – fic is too short to explain why it is possible. First chapters of my fics "My Generation" and "Unnatural" should give you some ideas of how I think it could be; Nick/Greg.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing …

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It was only supposed to be a one time thing - one that we'd never look back on. Neither of us was suppose to remember it despite the fact that it would forever be burned in both our memories. We were curious and needed the comfort and had no one else we could trust to turn to: Sara was long gone, Grissom wouldn't have understood, Catherine was busy trying to deal with Lindsay's latest rebellion, and Warrick was in the middle of a divorce. So that just left us.

I remember needing to feel him inside me, needing to feel _something._ Something other than the emptiness that was slowly washing over me from the oppression of the job. My once happy-go-lucky persona hadn't made itself known in I can't remember how long. I remember feeling him thrust into me, my back arching off the bed and the scars on it stretching and bunching up from the position. I wondered if he'd ever done this before, even though he'd sworn he'd never. I'd never experienced it quite like it had been with him. I'd never felt so _alive._ Before I knew it we were screaming each other's names. Afterwards, we lay side by side in my double bed finding a small comfort in each other's company. He left the next morning and we never spoke of it since. There was no reason. We'd both needed something and provided it for each other. That was it. It was over. It was behind us.

Until now.

I couldn't believe it when I found out. It couldn't be possible… Well, I knew _how_ it was possible. I just never expected it to be possible for me.

So here I sit, three months later, on the edge of the couch in my living room. The television is off and there is no sound anywhere in my apartment. My elbows are resting just above my knees and my face is in my hands. What am I suppose to do? How am I supposed to tell him? _Should_ I tell him? Tears spring to my eyes and I don't even stop them from spilling into my palms. I try running the words through my head but everything starts with a variation of _'I know you never wanted children…'_

I am so lost in my own small misery that I don't hear the knock on my door. Nor do I hear the spare key I'd entrusted to him open the lock or him walking into my living room. I don't know he's there until I feel myself being pulled into a comforting embrace. He asks me what's wrong and what he can do to help but all I can do is shake my head and sob quietly into his shoulder. When I've calmed down enough to dry my eyes he asks again. I take a shaky breath and stand. I walk over to where my jacket was haphazardly thrown onto the recliner. I take out a rolled up scroll of plastic-like paper and walk back to the couch, not meeting his gaze. I sit beside him, about a foot and a half away from him and silently hand the small scroll over.

I see his confused expression in my peripheral and watch as he unrolls the paper. At the top my name is clearly displayed and his confusion momentarily increases until he unrolls the paper further. He stares at the sonogram, taken that very afternoon, of a clearly defined human foetus in pure shock. He looks like he wants to say something but the words never leave his mouth. He takes a deep breath and his jaw sets. He stands and drops the rolled up sonogram on the coffee table, pulls out his keys and removes the one to my apartment, dropping it next to the image. I feel a new wave of tears ready to spill as I watch him walk out and shut to door without looking back. I sit there for a long time before I manage to choke out a few shaky words.

"I'm sorry, Nick…"

- 30 -

THE END

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**A.N.:** I'm sorry for making Nick out to be an ass, and I'm sure he'd be absolutely thrilled to have a kid, I just wanted to write something different. (Read most of my other MPreg fics if you want to see him happy about it.)

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_released__: April 20, 2008  
updated: July 27, 2010_


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